


opaque

by MourningTBStyle



Category: South Park
Genre: 90s AU, Coffee Shops, Drugs, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2020-09-01 20:40:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20264194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MourningTBStyle/pseuds/MourningTBStyle
Summary: Working at a coffee shop and serving conformists is the bane of Pete's existence. At the turn of the century and his young adult life not looking any brighter, maybe indulging certain posers will uncloud Pete's gloomy outlook.





	1. zaffre

I can’t fucking stand all of the conformists that come and buy coffee at Tweak Bro’s, now yes they pay my paycheck, yet they still get on my nerves. It’s another September that I’m not in school and I and the other goths are proven wrong again. Being an adult sucks. The scarce weeks of autumn are about to begin, all the leaves are close to dying and it’s a brutal time. 

My manager Tweek, politely asks me, “Hey Pete, can you wipe down the tables real quick?” The lunch rush had swept through leaving insurmountable amounts of trash and crumbs on the tabletops. 

“Yeah,” I tell him and consider that Tweek is probably the fifth-best person in South Park. Having the time to think as I spray cleaning solution everywhere, I envy Henrietta and her photography job she has at the Photo Dojo. Her mother forces her to stay enrolled at the local community college, however it allows for her, Michael, and I to live together in the house that Broflovski’s used to live in. Michael is too busy in Denver most days being a tattoo artist. It’s a shame that he isn’t around as much, he’s easy when he is though.

The bell that indicates another customer has entered the building rings and it’s the conformist alcoholic Stan Marsh, my next-door neighbor. I look up as I grab some left behind plastic straw wrapper. He smiles and waves at me. Disgusting. 

“What’ll you have today, Stan?” Showing his yellow teeth, Tweek grabs an empty cup.

“A medium latte, the regular.” He chuckles and I try my hardest to shoot lasers out of my eyes and set him on fire. 

I return to my menial cleaning task to pass time, I’m almost done with the last table as Stan has the nerve to approach me.

“Hey Pete, when are you done work?” Strong jaw, dark eyes, his mouth contorts into a smirk, I gape at him. He’s wearing an old South Park High hoodie.

With a hand on my hip hopefully showing that I’m pissed off, “What’s it to you?”

“I just wanted to hang out. You do live next to me.” I could tell Tweek was staring at this interaction since no one else was in the goddamn store. 

Wanting to keep my job I decided to not punch Stan and instead say, “five o’clock, you happy you conformist?” I wipe more aggressively to hopefully show that he should go the fuck away.

“See you then.” Stan quickly left the store and I return to my post behind the cash register. 

As Tweek obsessively counts the number of pastries we had in the display case he comments, “Didn’t know you talked to Stan.”

“I don’t. Well, not normally anyway.” It had been a few hours since I had my last cigarette and I was dying for another one. 

“Oh.” Is all Tweek had to say before he ran into the back to check on something, the way that Tweek runs his parents old coffee shop is super manic. Tweek runs around like he’s a chicken with his head cut off, I didn’t really care in actuality.

Another tall man walked into our store, it was Tweek’s dildo, Craig Tucker. “Hey.” He mutters at me. I don’t say anything I just know to get Tweek from the back. 

“Craig’s here,” Taking a few steps into the hallway leading to the oven. Tweek swiftly shuffles right into Craig’s arms. Their love made me fucking sick.

“I got you something,” Craig had a shopping bag from one of the local antique shops. Pulling out an old-looking mug, Tweek’s face lit up as he embraced Craig another time.

I instinctively check the clock and I still have three more hours. Hopefully, I won't kill myself before my shift ends.

* * *

At times like this, I wish I wasn’t poor, I want to kill the Earth like how Henrietta does with her SUV. Cigarette wedged firmly between my two fingers. Grateful that it wasn’t cold enough to require gloves I smoke intensely as I walk back to my house, Noticing Stan standing outside on his porch and he waves at me to come over. I couldn’t stop myself from being curious.

“Don’t worry my dad is at work.” He says as he leads me inside. Like I cared wherever the fuck Randy Marsh was at the moment. Stan’s house smelled like old beer and pizza. I had never been inside Marsh’s house before however, I can tell that they haven’t updated the decor in a good two decades. Stan jogs up the stairs and I follow him into his bedroom. The walls are plastered with Denver Bronco players that I don’t recognize. His blankets are strewn across the floor and he has a Polaroid of him and Wendy Testaburger framed on his bedside table.

“So why did you want me to come into your god awful home again?” I’m mad that I’m still in my work uniform and jealous when Stan responds to my question by taking his hoodie off and revealing a dark tank top underneath. His arms were defined and I could see his armpit hair. I hate myself.

“Is my house that bad? And I’ve been kinda lonely. Wendy and Kyle moved and I don’t really have anyone to hang out with anymore.” He said with a frown and he took a seat in his computer chair. He has a large Dell monitor on his desk.

Scoffing I tell him, “What makes you think that I would want to hang out with you?”

“Well, you are my neighbor. Think about it, are you doing anything other than just working at the coffee shop?”

“I guess not,” I say, waffling on his proposal, Stan is at least good enough to look at.

“So let’s hang out, watch TV, I have a Nintendo 64 if you wanted to play.” Stan raises his eyebrows. As if I am a child who would be so easily entertained by video games. 

I quickly think on my feet and tell him, “Let me go home and change. I promise I’ll be back.” Stan seems placated by this and I was able to escape for now. I can probably get some free alcohol out of him if I play along for long enough. 

Bouts of shame washed over me as I make the brisk walk to Henrietta and Firkle sitting in the living room rolling cigarettes. “You’re home late,” Henrietta states not taking her eyes off of her handiwork. “We’re gonna go get some McDonald’s and sit at the cemetery once it’s sundown. Might write some poetry, you’re coming with right? Michael called me and said he wouldn’t be back until tomorrow, working a double apparently.” 

Not wanting to stall for any longer, “Stan Marsh is trying to fucking hang out with me.”

“Tell that poser to get fucked. You have better things to do.” Firkle flips his bangs out of his face, he still has his backpack on his back as he lounges on the sofa. He only had one year left before he graduates. I am almost jealous, last year of high school wasn’t as terrible as working has been. A school couldn’t fire me as Tweek could.

I shrug my shoulders, “I can’t, he said he was sad or whatever.”

Henrietta scoffs at me, “If you think you’re going to fuck Stan Marsh because he’s a loser now, you’re fucking dreaming Pete.”

“It’s not about that! If he didn’t ask me do you think I’d be interested?” I raise my voice a little, do my friends think I would easily be a poser? Some friends if so. “Whatever, I’m getting changed and seeing him.”

Firkle shouts to me as I trudge upstairs, “Use protection slut!”

Getting out of my uniform and into a t-shirt and black jeans liberate me, Jesus Christ, I’m such a slave to capitalism now. Whatever rent is paid and I can buy like twenty packs of Marlboro no problem. 

I face the taunts from Henri and Firkle as I head back out into the crisp autumn air, I try and not let Henri’s implications bother me, but what else could Stan want from me?

I left Stan’s front door unlocked mostly out of negligence so I walk right back in. Stan is sitting in his living room couch playing Mario Kart. He sat outstretched very concentrated on throwing some turtle shells. It seemed pretty conformist to me. I stand at the threshold until Stan finishes his race in the first place. “Come over here, dude you can sit.” Awkwardly smiling at me. I oblige.

I say before sitting, “so where is your picture-perfect barbie doll again?” 

He begins another race and talks without taking his gaze from the television. “She’s at Harvard.” The rainbow track he was racing on feels a little ironic and I ask,

“The Broflovski’s moved right?”

“Yeah, to San Francisco.” Buttons mash frantically, “Fuck.”

“What about the fat one and the poor one? You surely have other people to bother.” I notice that I’ve been sitting too erectly and should just slouch into the couch.

Stan laughs, “Cartman went to Chicago for school and Kenny just had that baby with Tammy. I think he’s getting married this December.”

“Oh,” The colors on the TV are enough to mesmerize me and I wish I was high for this. Mostly to stave the awkwardness away and mostly due to boredom.

“You wanna play? I have another controller.” Brandishing the three-pronged controllers at me, Stan turns to look at me with pleading eyes.

“I’m hungry,” is the quickest excuse that I can come up with.

This alarms Stan, “Oh, we can make a pizza if you want. You don’t look like you eat often.” I decided to take that as a compliment and say,

“Yeah let’s eat.”

Stan’s kitchen echoed the rest of Stan’s house, cluttered and outdated. I took this opportunity to ask more questions. 

“So Wendy was only here for the summer?”

“Yeah,” Stan fiddled with shoving the frozen pizza into the hot oven. “We’ve been trying the whole long-distance thing and...writing letters to each other just,” His face scrunches before continuing, “letters aren’t enough, you know? Paper’s not a person.”

“I think I know what you mean.” 

He’s like an open faucet, “Kyle not being here isn’t any easier either, I really feel alone. My dad isn’t good at talking or really good at dealing with any heavy emotions. If he’s not at work, he’s at the bar. Mom is a thousand miles away and like fuck I want to talk to Shelly even if she’s only a few towns over.” He crosses his arms and leaned his back into the countertop. “Shit I’m sorry, I feel like I’m complaining. I know…”

“Yeah everyone knows that my father murdered my mother and killed himself.” If I wasn’t hanging out Henrietta’s house with the rest of the Goths I’m pretty sure my dad would have killed me too. 

“Sorry.”

“It happened, don’t be.” 

I glance over at the time and we still have ten minutes before our pizza is edible, and I want some of it, so I can’t be too mean to him. “Did you think I would empathize with you? Your people aren’t dead. You can call them on the phone.”

“Like they would answer, that’s not my point, that’s not why I wanted to talk to you.” Stan makes a pained face.

“Then why?”

“You seemed nice when I would buy my coffee.” He shrugs.

I roll my eyes, “Just because you like the fake persona I put on so I don’t get fired doesn’t mean that you know me-”

“Can I get to know you? I feel like you and your friends don’t let anyone in.”

Stan makes a valid point, “Well, I’m here now aren’t I?”

A sense of victory covers Stan’s face, “You goths just write poetry and praise Satan right?”

“For the most part, yeah sometimes we smoke and go to concerts too.” I check my fingernails and notice that my black nail polish is chipping. “Do you get drunk and still go to high school football games?”

“Only on alumni night,” There’s an awkward pause and we just gape at each other like two trouts until the oven beeps to knock us out of our stupor. 

We’re back in the living room and this pizza tastes similar to cardboard and I burnt my mouth. “Can I smoke here or do I have to go outside?”

“You can smoke in my room if you want." That's all I ever wanted to hear. 

Leaning out of Stan's bedroom window, he asks me the dumbest question, "does it taste good?"

"What the cigarette? You never tried?"

"No, it's why I stick to whiskey."

"Whiskey tastes horrible and I don't smoke for the taste, the fuck is wrong with you?"

Stan smiles at this, "I think it tastes pretty good." I take a glance back at him, he asks, "Do you ever smile?"

"No," I finish my cigarette and I think two hours is enough time to hang out with the preppy ex-quarterback. "I have work in the morning,"

Deflated Stan states, "oh yeah, well I'm glad you came over Pete, don't be a stranger." 

I nod at this and Stan is polite enough to follow me to the door.

Finally away from him and I'm met with an empty house and a napkin from Firkle that just says 'conformist slut' written on it. 

This winter may finally kill me and I couldn't be happier. 


	2. xanthic

Standing outside Tweak Bro’s on my third smoke break of the day, Tucker’s red car comes barreling into the parking lot. Illegally parking haphazardly in one of the handicapped spots, Craig slams the driver's side door with such anger. I’m scared.

“Did you know?” He barks at me.

I gape at him for a moment, “Know what?”

“You aren’t Tweek’s dealer then?” 

I couldn’t help myself from laughing in Craig’s face. “No, I don’t even know what you’re talking about in the slightest.” A bit offended that his first go-to for me is that I deal with drugs.

His face curls into a frown, something that Craig doesn’t do often, “Tweek’s living up to his name.” He said to me in a hushed tone.

“Well, wouldn’t that be obvious? His parents…” I trail off and continue smoking. 

“No shit, well I’m about to go in there and break up with him. I can’t do this anymore.”

Oh fuck, work’s about to get worse. “Don’t you think that would make him want to use more?” Abandoning him wouldn’t make it any better.

Craig didn’t feel like listening to me anymore and storms into the store, if I wanted to stop him I wouldn’t even have been able to.

I finish smoking my cigarette and throw the butt into the street. Walking in on something that I probably shouldn’t be seeing.

“I’ll stop I promise!” Some random teenagers sitting in a booth look towards me with awkward peers as Tweek begs pathetically. I return a similar face and shrug to the strangers.

Going back to my post as Craig says, “I’m done, get help Tweek, for real this time.” Tweek weeps some more and Craig turns his back on him.

Before I can even reset the register. 

“Go home Pete,” Tweek chokes out.

“It’s not even noon,”

“I’m closing early, I’ll clean, just go. Everyone out!” He screams, I have never seen Tweek that upset before, but I’ll go home early, whatever.

“Feel better,” is the only thing I can think to say as I leave. Thankful that nicotine is a more acceptable addiction.

Walking home in the autumn wind blew my hair around ruining my bangs, I should get Henrietta to cut my hair again soon.

I notice Michael’s hearse in the driveway and it’s been a few days since I’ve seen him.

“You’re home early,” Michael notes as he lounges on the couch in only his boxers.

“Had a crazy day, Craig broke up with Tweek at the store.”

“Oh shit,” His tattoo sleeves make Michael’s pale torso look illuminated in comparison. “Did the conformist take it well?”

“He closed the shop early, no dude.”

“I don’t think I could tattoo if you came all the way to Denver to break up with me.”

I cross my arms and sit next to him on the couch, “We’re not like that.”

“What?” He sits up more with a face of disgust.

“Together.” Purposefully leaving out Tweek’s drug habit, even though I think Michael would applaud Tweek’s hard use. Meth’s at least on the second tier.

“C’mon Pete, I’ve been sucking your dick since sophomore year of high school.”

“And?”

He paused, “Don’t you think you should be coming with me to Denver?”

Oh, he’s asking me to move, gross, “I can’t abandon Henrietta like that.”

He sighs, “Pete, I want to be more serious, I don’t like that I never get to see you anymore.”

“So I’m supposed to quit my job to go sit in Denver and become your cum dumpster?” I can’t believe Michael sometimes, he can be so selfish.

“Are we not doing that now?”

“No?”

“I leave tomorrow.” I sink onto the couch to grab Michael into a hug. Despite his emotional shittiness, I didn’t want him to go, but it’s not like he’s been around the last couple of months. He begins softly kissing me and it doesn’t feel as euphoric as it used to. I slowly start taking off my sweaty work uniform. Michael’s rough hands rake over my torso. I worry that this is probably the last time we’ll be like this.

Regretting that I never let him tattoo me, I feel extra naked as I knelt on the floor with Michael’s dick in my mouth. His hands curled into fists with my hair, probably from my pierced tongue. It doesn’t take too long for him to cum in my mouth. 

I stand back up, “I need to shower,”

Michael jumps up with cum still on him, “Pete, I’m going to miss you.”

“I know.”

Retreating into the bathroom away from everything washes over me, nothing feels better than privacy. As I step in, the warm water makes me recoil before submerging completely. Closing over the black shower curtain, I try and relax, don’t cry, Pete. Scrubbing my skin raw with the bar of soap relieves some tension. I hear the door open and know that Michael is trying to join in. I should have suspected. 

He steps in the bath with me and it feels crowded like it always does when we decide to shower together. Getting drenched is an excuse to hide my tears as Michael embraces me tightly. Wishing that he could squeeze the life force out of me. I aggressively kiss his neck and make him groan. I go through the motions of cleaning myself and rubbing his dick. After fifteen minutes, Michael turns off the shower and wrapped a towel around me.

“Carry me.”

“What? Dude come on. You have legs.” Michael stood there naked and I know I am making a ridiculous request. No longer giving a shit, fully transforming into a spoilt brat. Michael semi-obliged by pushing me through the hallway.

I refused to get dressed as Michael packed his suitcase in his bedroom. All of his Bauhaus posters came down so the walls were bare. 

“So when are you going to tell Henri? I can’t imagine she’s going to be happy about this.”

“She already knows, I told her like a month ago. I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d be upset.”

Frowning, “What the fuck? I’m not upset.”

“Sure,” He throws another black outfit into his luggage.

Our doorbell ringing surprises both of us and forces me to run to my room and throw on some underwear and a t-shirt.

As more time passes the bells ring again more frantic this time and I think I can guess who’s here.

I open the door somewhat scantily clad. “Tweek.”

His shirt has some blood stains on them and he hands me my check, “I forgot that it was payday today, sorry.” Desperately trying to pat down his wild blond hair he continues to scowl.

“It’s cool, you alright?”

Eyes rolling Tweek scoffs, “Today might be the worst day of my life.”

“My day’s been pretty shitty too, come in. I and Michael were just going to order a pizza.” I didn’t think about inviting Tweek in and how I should be spending time with Michael before he leaves. Tweek’s my boss and if his life sucks, I’m not trying to make it any worse.

“Tweek’s here,” I announce. Michael doesn't look too pleased, but I'm not fucking him again today, I'm too pissed off. 

“Nice to see you again Tweek,” Michael says in a sarcastic tone. I hate him. 

“Yeah real nice, you guys have cigarettes, I need like twenty!”

“Yeah,” I fumble towards the half-empty Marlboro pack.

Tweek lighting a cigarette on my couch as he shook made me realize something. With Michael gone and with Craig and Tweek have broken up I could bang both of them and Stan Marsh. Really get back at Michael for leaving, If Firkle thinks I’m a slut? Maybe I am.

“Pete, could you help me?” Michael makes a vague gesture to his suitcases. 

Scratching his head with a cigarette practically falling out of his mouth, Tweek asks, “Where ya going, Michael?”

“Denver, have to move.”

“Lucky! I fucking hate it here.” Tweek quickly smokes his cigarette, “Pete, can I have another?”

As I’m struggling with Michael’s heavy suitcase which I can only presume is filled with rocks, “Yeah, whatever.”

The front door bursts open with Henrietta and Firkle glaring at Tweek with pizza in their hands, “What is he doing here? I paid for the pizza you dick bags, you owe me.”

“He had a bad day Henri, be cool,” Michael says while rolling his eyes.

Firkle jumps onto the couch next to Tweek making him shiver visibly. "Trying to become a goth coffee slave?" Firkle asks. 

"Oh, I just forgot to pay Pete, I should get going." Tweek stammers and Michael echoes with,

"Yeah, I should hit the road before it's dark."

Henrietta swoops in, "Tweek have some pizza you need it." Feeling surreal I just follow Michael around before he goes.

So, I'm shoving Michael's duffle bag into his trunk as he smokes beside me. The other goths still inside placating Tweek from suicide most likely. 

"I love you, Pete."

"You're heading into rush hour traffic," I say.

Michael embraces me for the final time and now that I'm facing the Marsh residence I notice Stan setting up Halloween decorations, watching us. 

"See you around," earning an affirmative nod from Michael.

I go back inside to avoid watching Michael driving away. 

Tweek looks terrified as Henrietta and Firkle fire off twenty questions at him. 

"You still date that dickhole, Craig Tucker?" Henrietta asks. 

"What's it like owning your own coffee house?" Firkle chews through a slice of pizza.

"How are your drug addict parents?"

This makes Tweek short circuit and seeing me is enough for him to change the conversation.

"Thanks for letting me over Pete, I'll see you tomorrow for work, yeah?"

"Yeah, at 9 o'clock."

Tweek slinks out of our house.

Firkle can't help himself, "Is he alright?"

"Probably not, Craig broke up with him," I tell them. 

Henrietta shrugs and I shrug back. 


	3. stan was a diver and he was always down

Today was another surprise day off from my lovely boss. Thankfully I had my paycheck, so I’m full up on cigarettes and bread. Two mornings went by where the landline woke me up and only me since Henrietta and Firkle could sleep through a god damn burglary. It was Tweek and he sounded tired and pissed off. Getting to stay home was exciting, like syrupy caramel mixed on top black coffee. Henri had work, Firkle had school, I peek out a window, mild flurries. Daring the outside, I think it’s time to update on what Stan Marsh is doing. This is bad, I’m bored.

Some knocks on the doorframe should be enough, I’m not out of my mind enough to ring his fucking doorbell. I would rather die than have to speak to Stan’s douchebag alcoholic father. A few moments later a disheveled man in sweatpants opens the door, “Pete? Don’t you have work?” Stan asks, his face contorts into a smile. Thankful that it’s Stan, I smile back at him.

“I’m sick,” I state, “Is this a bad time or something?” my heart is pounding as Stan begins to close over the door.

“My dad’s passed out on the couch.” He says a little flushed, I don’t know why he’s embarrassed everyone knows his father is a drunk. 

I shrug, “No one’s home at my house.”

Stan didn’t even bother changing into something warmer, but we’re in our boring gothic living room.

Noticing the skull decorations and the Smiths’ posters along the walls Stan mentions, “I like Henrietta’s skulls or are they yours?”

I need to stop inviting over conformists, it’s becoming a bad habit. Stan’s gray sweatpants should be black. Combat boots, not plaid slippers. “Hers.”

“What are you sick with?” He probes me, suddenly a warm, sweaty, calloused hand on my forehead.

“Nothing, just too many things recently.” His touch startles me, but I want him to continue to do so. Almost as to torture myself. 

He smiles, “You worry too much, would it kill you to be optimistic for a second?” Like a knife through the chest.

“It would,” I say and notice his painfully obvious bulge, I'm tempted to grab at him and ruin the moment. 

He gulps, "Is work with Tweek bad? I heard what happened from Kenny. It seems fucked."

Oh so, Kenny knows? I wonder who else got told either from Craig, Henri, or Firkle. None of them know how to keep secrets I guess.

I say, "No he's fine, well he's going to rehab. I don't want to talk about it." Stan pulls his hand back from against my head. 

"If it makes you feel better, I don't have a job." He smells of sweat and beer. He smiles goofily at me, God I'm going to regret this.

"Stan, kiss me," I say and if I'm failing, I want to fail spectacularly. 

"Pete, what?" He sounds scared, amazing.

"I said kiss me. Did I fucking stutter? What are you afraid of conformist?"

"I'm not afraid of anything!" He jumps up, putting his hands out to signify pushing me away.

"Then kiss me, it will make me happy and love rainbows or whatever." This seems to make him ponder. "I'm waiting."

"You're ridiculous," He crosses him defiantly blatantly ignoring my request of a kiss.

Maybe I need to be more aggressive, “What if I suck your dick? Would that interest you at all?

“Pete, did you invite me over to just because you were horny?”

“No, well yes, I’m sad.” I thought stating the obvious would make him pity fuck me or something. My mouth turns into a frown as I think about sharing my plans to kill myself on Y2K, if the computers were going down I wanted to go down with them.

“Pete, Jesus Christ, it’s okay.” Stan made his way back onto the couch next to me wrapping a muscular arm around my torso. I was used to Michael’s cigarette stick arms, I felt protected and commodified. He asks, “You can cry if you need to.”

“I’m not that much of a fag Staniel,”

“I- never said that you were.”

A pang of guilt hits me if he’s straight and I’m trying to fuck him I think that makes a bad person. Quickly concluding that I didn’t care about that really, I tried playing up my submissive side by shrinking into a little spoon position.

“This couch is kind of small.” I mean we do have a shitty old couch that we stole from Henri’s parents’ house. It didn’t make the couch any bigger by having two large men on the cusp of fucking on it.

“I do have a bed, you know.”

“You’re not trying to…” He ends his question, I think I know what he’s asking.

“What? Fuck you? No, Stan.” 

“I’m not…”

“Not what? Gay?” I’m fooling myself with a straight dude laying my head on his chest.

“It’s not that, it’s just really fast.”

Fast? Does this stupid man think I want to date him? “We can go slow, as I asked, kiss me, you asshole.”

“Have you kissed dudes before?” He asks me.

I contemplate messing with him and saying no, “You think I haven’t?”

“I didn’t think you were into that.”

I can’t help myself from laughing at Stan’s naivete? Ignorance? To goth culture or being gay. It’s mesmerizing, cute even.

“Oh come on, don’t laugh, you know you’re not flaming.”

“No I don’t live up to the conformist gay stereotype, I’m sorry to disappoint.” 

Sick of his stalling I pick my head up from his chest and kiss his lips aggressively. I wanted him to stop talking.

Stan moans into my mouth and grabs the back of my hair with his fist.

I back off of him to breathe and he hits me with a “Pete, I think I should go.”

“Go?” I shift my weight onto him, completely straddling him.  “I thought you liked playing games Stan? Or is this not fun?” I tease him as I sit directly on his dick.

“Dude,” He calls me, “Listen, I don’t want to fuck you, just yet.”

“Oh, just yet? So macho man Stan is interested.”

His eyes dilate, shocked. “Yeah, I’m curious, just… I want it to be special.”

Special? Me? Gothic freak special.

“Stan, just shut up and fuck me.”

“I will, I want to take you to dinner first. Wine and dine all that.”

I gape at him and get off of his lap and stand erectly.

“Where do you want to go?”

“Right now?”

“Look I only have until Henrietta gets back from work at five. So you'll have to settle for lunch. Deal with it.”

Stan nodded at this and promised to be right back.

Stan went home to get dressed in jeans and his jacket. I waited by smoking four cigarettes in my room. I suggested driving out of South Park so no one who recognizes us will be there. 

A honk of a horn as Stan sat in his conformist Ford car. 

“You can put on whatever station you want.” Stan offered me as I buckled myself into his death trap.

“Turn off the radio.” He complied and we sat in silence as Stan focused on driving.

We start to go into uncharted territory for me, I normally stick around South Park since I never feel like biking anywhere. It’s not like there’s anything better to do in a five-mile radius.

“Where are you taking me?” I somewhat hope this turns into my murder, Stan with his hands around my throat with patriarchal fury beating me into a pulp.

“Clyde keeps talking about this really good Mexican hole in the wall just outside of North Park, I wanted to try it.” Oh, this is just a gay date. Infuriating.

Stan orders us two burritos and we’re the only people in this tiny restaurant. It doesn’t take very long for them to make our food and the woman cashier smiles when Stan says no change to her. We take advantage of the small table outside of the restaurant. 

I hate eating in front of other people, I feel like I’m being judged for being gluttonous or sloppy. Stan must be oblivious or just not care as he takes large bites enthusiastically. I try and mimic him and the burrito is good as the autumn wind whips us.

He laughs, “Is it good?”

“Yeah,” I smile for him.

“I’m glad.”

“I would have rather had your cock for lunch, but this will do.”

Stan glares at me and continues eating. 

We finish up and Stan takes my garbage from me as if I’m his dame.

Back in his shitty car Stan is bolder asking me questions. “So, you’re into dudes like me?”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Stan most men can do the job. You’re just the closest man right now.”

“So you’re a slut?”

“I hate you.”

He laughs as he stops at a red light.

“I’m kidding Pete,”

“I’m reconsidering my offer now. I think I’ll become chaste instead. Conformists are the worst.”

The light turns green, “This is because Michael moved isn’t it?”

“Astute observation Stan, I don’t think so, you’re good looking and started talking to me. Simple as that.”

Stan slows onto our street and we’re back in front of my house and Henrietta’s SUV sat in the driveway.

“Fuck she must be done work early.” Stan still parks in front of my house as Henrietta is standing in the living room looking through our sheer black curtains directly at us.

“I guess we’ll need a rain check on that dick sucking,” Stan says as I hop out of his car. He rolls down the passenger side window, “See you later Pete!”

The front door doesn’t close before Henrietta says, “Methhead boss still not back yet?”

“No,” I say heading for the stairs.

“What were you doing with Captain Conformist?”

“None of your business Henri,” I climb up a couple of stairs.

“Pete, just don't be stupid. Okay?”

I don’t say anything else to her as I make it to my room. I think it’s too late for that, I’m really fucking stupid as my heart pounded for Stan Marsh’s stupid fucking face.


	4. the bicycle

It's Tweek's first day back after doing his outpatient therapy and he seems irritable as ever. The shop closed for a week and I mostly spent my time hiding from Stan Marsh, he knew I was home and I had to shoo him away twice with a fake story about feeling sick. Tweek makes a chirping noise.

"Pete, I'm going in the back I can't stand everyone fucking talking." He says as I'm left to fend the lunch rush crowd. Mostly mothers of people I went to school with.

Getting hit with a, "you should smile more sweety," as I hand over some shitty coffee made me want to quit on the spot. I don’t know which canned comment is worse that or “are you excited for Halloween?” followed by some chortles like I haven’t been asked that every October. 

Halloween is in two weeks and Henri has been decorating her ass off. Firkle had a great idea to turn our downstairs into a haunted house to scare conformists and get five dollars out of them. They’re expecting me to help and I plainly don’t want to, but I think I have a favor from someone in my back pocket.

It was already two o'clock and sticking out amongst the old people Stan stands at the end of the line in his puffy winter coat smiling at me. Due to Tweek being fucking crazy in the back it really holds all the orders up and makes everything more painful to deal with. After getting through a large order of coffees. It's then his turn.

“Hey Pete, how’ve you been?” Stan says to me and he should know that is not the right question to ask me when I have boiling water in my hands. 

“Working right now,”

“Do you feel any better? A large hot chocolate.” He opens his wallet and actually tips me a few dollars. His dad must still give him money. Privileged poser.

“Yeah, tell everyone their barista is sick. I’m fine Stan,”

“It’s been a while since we like hung out and stuff. Let’s do it again.”

While I’m glad to know that my stupid date with Stan went well. I start making the overpriced drink that he could have made at home.

“We can hang out when I don’t have work, see you later. Next?” I wasn’t trying to crush his dreams, but we were actually busy for once.

Stan nods and said “thanks,” and I think I smiled for the first time this year.

God, closing the small town coffee house for only a couple of days and it was like people hadn’t had coffee in years with how packed we were. I didn’t even get to have a smoking break. Tweek bowed at me for being such a good worker today and it was just weird.

It starts to lightly rain on me when I went to unlock my bike and one of the wheels is flat and I know that today sucks.

I guess this gives me an excuse, I think I should pay Craig Tucker a visit. See how he’s doing, people in turmoil are when they’re at the most fun. Tweek didn’t have much to say while under the duress of work, he’s been pretty quiet and too busy hiding in the fucking back to give up any juicy details.

By the time I made it to the mechanic shop on fifth street I was drenched even though it wasn’t even raining that hard. I was sick of carrying my bike too. Craig Tucker was just sitting on a stool in an oil-stained wife beater. 

“Get caught in the rain?” He says to me.

I try and not act like a sarcastic bitch to him. “Yeah,” as I trekked all the way here I thought about just getting a new bike altogether, my bike is about six years old, My parents bought it for me when I was still in high school. 

Noting that along the walls of car tires and barrels of oil were a few bicycles hung up close to the ceiling. 

“The wheel’s flat, how much is that red one up there?”

“You don’t want me to just fix it?”

“I asked how much.”

“Four hundred.”

I hesitated because I could technically afford it, I just wouldn’t have much money for cigarettes or eating.

“How’s Tweek been?” Craig asks not getting up or really moving at all.

I can’t believe that he’s asking me this so brazenly, “how do you think he’s been? He’s fucking miserable.”

Craig frowns at this, “Look I want him to get better.” If Craig is asking me how Tweek is, they haven't been talking, boring.

“I know, but I came to get a bike, I don’t care about this.”

“If you gave me more info about Tweek, the price can go down.” Craig shrugs his shoulders. Typical.

I just hold out my credit card that I rarely ever use, “He’s been going to therapy. Just give me the fucking bike Tucker.”

He smirks at me, “That’s fine with me then, let me get it for you.”

I stand and shiver as Craig easily unhooks the bike from the wall. “How come you don’t drive?”

“Cars are more expensive, I just don’t like driving.” The potential road rage and the easier fatality rates also factor in.

Craig hums at this, “Do you want to buy a helmet too? It can be pretty dangerous out there.”

“No, I want to smash my skull into the concrete, thanks though.”

He swiped my card into his cash register, “Do you believe everything is going to crash on new years?” 

“I can only hope Craig.” I stand with my jeans soaking onto the floor.

He nods at me and I suddenly have a new bike, which I guess is exciting.

“What do you want me to do with your old bike?”

“You can have it, I don’t care,” I tell him.

“You would look cuter with blond hair, you know.”

I make a quick exit. I couldn’t deal with Craig Tucker of all people trying to hit on me while I indulged my whore self.

Do I regret my impulsive purchase? Hell no, I’ll just start making my payments on time or whatever. I race as fast as I can back to our house to get out of the rain. It didn’t lighten up at all and I think it started to rain harder even. 

Henrietta greets me with a bag of weed as more Halloween decorations in boxes littered the living room.

“You look like shit and a new bike? Fancy.” She smiles as she smokes a blunt on the couch. 

“Yeah, thought I would treat myself.”

“Firkle needs to appease his mother by having dinner there, but after that, we're going to watch Dracula and get high.

“Sounds amazing. I need to shower, work sucked, my bike had a flat tire, it rained.”

Henrietta retorts with, “Capitalism blows, guess how many conformists white moms came in for a Halloween photo.”

“How many?”

“Every single fucking customer! It was ridiculous.” We laugh and bitch more about the stupid people in South Park, I make my shower quick so I can smoke all night with Henri. I’ve missed her.

We were a few spliffs in and Bela Lugosi is on screen, “Before Firkle gets here I should tell you this. Michael called asking for you last night while you were asleep."

“I’m glad you didn’t wake me, fuck him.”

“That’s what I thought, but Pete come on you can’t just turn your back on him like that.”

“He's the one who moved to Denver.”

She tenses at this and we continue watching Dracula and smoking. Firkle joins us not long after.

"Hey Henrietta, can you cut my hair? It's getting pretty wild." I say as the credits roll. Firkle said something about needing to get home before his curfew. 

We settle in the kitchen while Henrietta chops off some dead ends with scissors made for meat cutting. As strands of red and black hit the floor I say, "Thanks Henri, for like everything."

She grabs my shoulder, "Don't worry Pete, you're the best person in this hellhole. I would fucking die for you."

She finishes my haircut and we smoke another spliff in the kitchen before we head to bed to face another day of agonizing work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should update this more frequently. Thanks for reading.

**Author's Note:**

> I probably wouldn't have written this if it wasn't for RandomJaz's 'Consistent', so thanks! Comment if you feel like it.


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